Same 'ol, same 'ol keeping it new

III

As I left the hospital, I drove home in a daze. I didn’t listen to any music, or roll the windows down to enjoy a beautiful September afternoon. I just wanted to be home. I didn’t care that I would be alone; I just wanted to be as far away as possible from the hospital. Once I got home, I crawled into bed and stayed. What else could I do? The ultrasound tech had said everything. I was empty.

If you’re not familiar with the effects of miscarrying, the aftermath on your body is agonizing. For me, it felt like my stomach had been ripped out and put back in the wrong way. There is also the added element that your mind goes through. I think the mind games I played with myself were more excruciating than the actual physical pain my body was undergoing.

In a matter of 48 hours I had gone from the highest high to the lowest of lows. I was pregnant on Saturday, and without child on Monday. In this time frame I had become someone I didn’t know. Someone I didn’t like. I remember vividly coming home from running errands with Mr. in town on Thursday evening and talking about having to work with ladies who were expecting. How was I going to be able to face them? How was I supposed to be excited for them? I was JEALOUS of them.

Mr. tried his best to support me, but I would say things and he wouldn’t know what to say back. On this specific ride home, he was being as supportive as he could be and said, “I love you.” My response was, “How can you love me when my body destroyed our baby?”

Oh, he got so mad at me for saying that! But, that’s where my mind was…not in a good place. Mr. did his best to try and be normal. Normal was gone; we would never be the same again.

As the weekend approached, Mr. asked if I was planning on going to church. My reply, “Um, no!” He didn’t push the issue until Saturday evening. He told me we were going to church. I’m thinking, ‘no way.’ He said I needed to be up and ready to go Sunday morning. He wasn’t going to leave without me.

I woke up that Sunday morning and reluctantly threw my hair up in a ponytail and put on some black sweat pants. I didn’t want to be at church, and I certainly didn’t care what I looked like. I had no one to impress. I wasn’t going there to worship. I wasn’t going there because God wants His people to hear His word. I was going because Mr. made me.

All week I had been questioning God. I was as mad at Him as I had ever been in my life. What would God have to say to me when I got to church? Nothing! We weren’t speaking. He had failed me, after I had done everything right for Him my entire life. I was ready to walk away. God, He had other plans…